


the first night

by LeilaKalomi



Series: a collection of first nights [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Fingering, Aziraphale Has No Genitalia (Good Omens), Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Has Self-Esteem Issues (Good Omens), Oral Sex, Other, Post-Coital Cuddling, Rimming, Scene: Garden of Eden (Good Omens), Smut, Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), Vaginal Fingering, Wing Grooming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:14:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24474844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeilaKalomi/pseuds/LeilaKalomi
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley explore each other after Adam and Eve leave the garden.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: a collection of first nights [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1767751
Comments: 13
Kudos: 147
Collections: Promptposal





	the first night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [waterofthemoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterofthemoon/gifts).



> This is the second work in a short series of smutty second parts to scenes from canon. Each work is completely independent and should be read as part of a separate universe.

_Crawly_ , Aziraphale thinks. The demon had barely introduced himself before he was shuffling closer, casting apprehensive little looks up at the rain and then again over at Aziraphale, like he wasn’t sure if Aziraphale would move away, almost like a challenge. For some reason, Aziraphale felt endeared to him, and _that_ made him want to prove the demon wrong. He was an angel, and he would be kind, and not at all above helping even a demon.

That had been right, hadn’t it?

“Bit droll, isn’t it?” the demon—Crawly—says now. “I mean, she’s already kicked them out of the garden. We get it, you know. Everyone gets it. She’s displeased. No need to rain down a plague of... _liquid_ on us all.”

“It’s _rain_ ,” Aziraphale says, defensively. “Only water.”

“ _Water_ ,” the demon says, trying out the word. “Eh, not a fan.”

They stand there a while in the rain, the two of them silent, the demon scrunching his wings in so they don’t get wet too, but it’s really a lost cause. There’s only so much Aziraphale can do with a single wing held aloft over this tall creature. It occurs to him that the demon could shapeshift and burrow into the soft ground if he really wanted to avoid the rainstorm, but he does not, and Aziraphale does not suggest it.

Aziraphale sighs, reluctantly dismayed at the state of his tunic, now completely soaked through. He can see the pink of his skin through the translucent fabric. He tugs at it with his fingers to stop it from sticking. As the rain tapers off and gradually stops, he casts a resentful eye at the still-dry demon and finds him staring.

“You’re...all…” Crawly’s face turns red. He looks away, gives a cough.

“Wet,” Aziraphale says, feeling unaccountably embarrassed. “It’s the _water_. It’s really rather cold and uncomfortable.”

Crawly tilts his head sympathetically. “Oh, _that’s_ too bad.” He reaches out, his fingers plucking at the wet fabric, his eyes fixed firmly on Aziraphale’s body rather than his face.

“You’re wet, too,” Aziraphale says, gesturing at Crawly’s tunic, which is only slightly damp down toward his feet. Aziraphale can see one of his ropy legs sticking out from beneath the tunic; it looks sunkissed and covered with a light dusting of bright, rust-colored hair. His wings are wet too, little droplets of water caught in them, making them iridescent. (Unlike Aziraphale’s, which are completely waterlogged and heavy.)

Crawly doesn’t seem distracted by his own dampness, and the tunic is really uncomfortable, so Aziraphale grabs it and pulls it over his head, throwing it to the ground, or rather, to the top of the wall where they’re standing. Dripping, it splashes as it lands, forming its own puddle. Aziraphale sighs and leans over to pick it up, crouching at the edge of the wall to spread it out to dry.

“Now you,” Aziraphale says, turning and reaching out to take the demon’s tunic. But Crawly is still dressed, his eyes travelling over Aziraphale’s body. He lowers himself to sit beside him and blinks, and his own tunic and wings are dry.

“Oh,” Aziraphale says.

“Look at _you_ ,” the demon says, his voice low and rough. He reaches out, places a hand on Aziraphale’s arm. No one has touched Aziraphale since… he can’t even remember, so he can’t say if the touch is so hot it nearly burns because the hand on him belongs to a demon, or if that’s just how touch feels. His hand is smooth, the skin soft. He kneads the flesh of Aziraphale’s arm softly, and there’s something about it, something about the way the demon is looking at him, that makes Aziraphale gasp.

“Can I touch your wings?” Crawly says.

Aziraphale frowns at him. No one has ever asked him that. In Heaven, one simply approaches, simply reaches out to straighten an errant feather.

“If you’d like,” he says, hesitant. Crawly dries Aziraphale’s wings with a demonic miracle, something warmer and gentler than he would have expected. “Oh,” he says. Crawly smiles and lightly touches the edge of Aziraphale’s primaries. He doesn’t stop after straightening a feather or two; he reaches into the feathers, stroking them, fluffing them, kneading gently at the skin near the joints.

“Are they in such poor shape?” Aziraphale asks.

“No. They’re gorgeous. Never thought I’d...” His hand slides onto Aziraphale’s back, and his hair brushes over Aziraphale’s bare shoulder. Slowly, he walks to stand in front of Aziraphale, still looking at him. Aziraphale reaches for Crawly’s smooth black wings, but Crawly draws back, taking them out of reach, then seems to pretend he hadn’t noticed.

“What about the rest of you?” Crawly says, sliding his fingers over Aziraphale’s chest and abdomen, then lower.

“Oh, you’re so smooth here. Usually there’s something...” The demon runs his fingers over the soft, featureless expanse of skin, stretched gently over Aziraphale’s pelvis. Then he leans forward and darts his tongue out, running it lightly over the skin. Aziraphale squirms and shrieks happily with the sensation, falling back slightly on his arms so Crawly can reach better.

“Yeah,” Crawly says, brushing his fingers over the sensitive skin there. “You could lie down?” Aziraphale leans back further, spreading his legs, and Crawly resumes. Aziraphale feels the sensation almost like something burning in his lower abdomen as Crawly’s tongue dances over him, flickering across the expanse of tender skin, then slipping lower, tonguing at something else there. Aziraphale isn’t quite sure what. He’s never looked at himself that far back. Crawly trails his tongue over the place a few times before he draws back to look.

“Oh, that’s interesting. You’ve got…” Crawly says, pushing his legs apart further so his hands are between Aziraphale’s buttocks. He presses a finger against Aziraphale’s body there, and Aziraphale feels something part a little and clench tightly. He gasps. “Doesn’t hurt, does it?” Crawly says.

“No, but…”

Crawly frowns and slips his finger into his mouth, then presses it back against Aziraphale. This time, it feels easier. Aziraphale’s head falls back, and he feels something, feels _Crawly_ , his hot, wet hand, sliding, pressing inside of him.

“Ohhh, that’s...good,” he manages to choke out.

“Oh, _angel_ ,” Crawly says. He looks almost like he’s in a trance. He begins to slide the finger in and out gently, nudging something inside of Aziraphale, sometimes leaning over to lick across the expanse of Aziraphale’s stomach and chest and the smooth, sensitive skin just above where he’s got his finger.

Aziraphale’s muscles go tight, and he clenches around Crawly’s finger, and Aziraphale sees white hot sun even though the sky has long since gone pink with sunset.

“Crawly, Crawly,” he whispers, unable to think, to say anything else. When he opens his eyes, he sees the demon staring down at him, his pupils wide, his perfect curls a little disheveled, his mouth red and wet.

“Mmmm,” he says happily. Crawly’s face relaxes a little.

“Was that...are you all right?”

“Oh, yes. It was _lovely_ , my dear.” Crawly sighs with relief, smiling. He’s so stunningly beautiful and artless. Aziraphale raises a hand to touch one of the dimples at the sides of his cheeks, and Crawly laughs, lies down beside him, and tucks his head into the space between Aziraphale’s head and shoulder. He’s warm, and his bones don’t render him as sharp to the touch as he looks. There’s a looseness to the way he moves, a fragility. Aziraphale buries his nose in soft, burnished curls and inhales the scent of cedar and pears. He likes pears.

“I liked it too,” Crawly says into Aziraphale’s neck. “Your corporation is…’s nice. ”

A thought occurs to Aziraphale.

“Is yours different?”

Crawly hesitates, then pulls back, sitting up. Aziraphale braces himself on his elbows and waits uncertainly, watching. Had he done something wrong?

But Crawly, on his knees now, only lifts the hem of his tunic slowly, as if expecting that Aziraphale will not like what he reveals. And it _is_ different for him. Between his slim, muscled legs there’s a thatch of bright hair, a tiny cleft just in the center. It looks soft, delicate. Crawly looks nervous.

“Oh,” Aziraphale whispers. “Oh, Crawly. You are such a pretty thing. Can I—can I touch it? I’ll...I’ll be gentle.”

Crawly makes a small noise like a groan, and he nods.

Aziraphale reaches out and just touches the hair at the crease of his thigh, then cups his hand to wrap around one slim hip. With the other hand, he braces himself until he’s come up to a sitting position and can get both of his hands on Crawly’s hips. He cups his small, firm buttocks and says, “Your turn, I think, to lie down.”

Aziraphale cradles the demon’s head to keep it from knocking against the hard stone of the wall. Crawly holds his legs up, bent at the knees, and Aziraphale can see the dark flushed pink between them, the cleft a bit larger, a bit deeper than he’d thought, opening like petals and glistening in the twilight.

Keeping his hand around the back of the demon’s fragile looking skull, Aziraphale trails his fingers over the opening, to the top of the slippery, wet cleft and then down, back and forth, watching as the demon squirms each time he reaches the crest.

“There,” Crawly gasps, once, and so Aziraphale lingers there, swirling the tiny nub until Crawly’s body is convulsing, until his long arms are reaching out for Aziraphale, even as he lets out a low, loud groan. Aziraphale holds him with one arm, pressing harder with his fingers until they slip inside where it’s slick and hot. Crawly gasps, and something seems to clamp onto Aziraphale’s hand, to hold it inside Crawly until he suddenly goes limp.

Were it not for his breathing, Aziraphale might have feared the demon was dead, but even the thought of that hurts. Aziraphale wants to hold him like this, warm and safe, forever. He withdraws his damp hand slowly, feeling Crawly shudder. Aziraphale strokes his back.

“It’s all right,” he whispers solemnly as Crawly clings to him.

But why should he fear for the demon’s life? Why should he want to soothe and guard a demon? Shouldn’t he have _smote_ the demon to begin with?

What _was_ this that they were doing? Not smiting, certainly. It had started as a bit of friendly conversation, a bit of trying to show the demon that righteous didn’t have to mean rude or closed-minded, and now...Crawly has turned his head, is breathing against Aziraphale’s neck, and then pressing his lips there and licking it, whispering something, something about love, something about forever. Was this how they did it, temptation? Was he being tempted, lured to the other side?

“Oh,” Aziraphale gasps, scrambling to stand up. “I should...I ought to...keep an eye on them. I really have to...”

Crawly tugs his tunic back into place, looking wryly up at Aziraphale. His smile is sardonic, but there is something deeply melancholy about the suddenly stiff cast of his sinuous body, the flicker of his eyes.

“Tunic’s dry,” he says softly, tossing the stiff white garment to Aziraphale. “See you around then, angel. Was...was nice meeting you, yeah?” There’s a plea there, and Aziraphale can’t ignore the way it twists at his heart. Perhaps it wasn’t a temptation. It’s too bad he’s a demon; it _does_ rather complicate things, but perhaps Crawly meant all of the sweet things he’d whispered.

Love. Can demons really do that? And does Aziraphale... _love_...Crawly? He gives a sniff. Of course he doesn’t. He can’t. Aziraphale loves all the things that She has made, but demons are not a part of Creation. Even so, he feels effervescent with whatever is in his chest, and he can’t keep words from bursting out of him.

“Yes,” Aziraphale says, and Crawly’s face goes slack with relief. “A lovely evening. I’m quite sure we’ll meet again.”

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi and follow me on tumblr [@leilakalomi](https://leilakalomi.tumblr.com).


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